Standing by the Reservoir: The Machiavellian
by Stanley Marlowe
Summary: Mr. Pink has escaped from prison, and has found inspiration in a place he never predicted. Witness his journey as he meets old friends and new foes, and must choose whether or not to step out of his life of crime.
1. Chapter 1

**The Machiavellian**

_Stanley Marlowe_

Goddamn, but it had been a long time since he'd smelled the air outside of a jail cell.

He'd been out of prison for a while now, though. Thinking back on it all, he was lucky to even make it out alive. Not just from the prison or the cops, but also the fact that he had made it past his involvement with Joe and the others.

Now was the time to lay low and get out of California. He couldn't stay in California; there was no more profit for him there. His escape from jail would mark him out for a long time. It was time to get out and head for somewhere more remote and keep his head down.

He looked at the sunset behind him as he drove along in a stolen car. He'd once learned to hotwire a car when he'd lived in San Francisco with his brothers. The fingers never forgot the skills.

He wondered what he was going to do now. He couldn't go to Nevada; the cops hunting him would go there first, and they would know who he was based on his last name. Koons. That was his name. Mitchell Koons. Nephew of renowned fucking war hero Captain Andrew Koons. Jesus the bastard was a royal pain in the ass, and he would likely have killed his nephew if he found out just how far he was embroiled in crime.

Even as Mitchell turned his car in direction that would get him out of the state, he felt a pang of sadness. California had been his home. He'd lived here most of his life, except for that brief time he'd lived with his dad's brother the Captain. California had been good to him, even if it had exposed him to a man like Joe Cabot and his zany plans. The old guy was fucked in the head near the end; Mitchell knew a time when Joe had been ruthless and very clever in his judgements. He would never have paired up a smart guy like Mitchell with that fucking wimp Mr. Orange, the psychotic Mr. Blonde, or that really annoying Mr. Brown. None of them had been professionals, Mr. White the worst of all. Only Mr. Blue had seemed a real tough guy, but too old.

Mr. Blue. Man, what had he meant in that cafe just before the robbery? Did he see through the bull shit about not tipping? Did he know about his cover up? Fuck. It was a good thing that the guy was dead.

Mitchell scratched at the beard he had. He'd worn fake facial hair that day at the robbery. He'd always done that for a hit. It was better to hide behind something you could easily throw away. That was the truth he'd learned from some good friends of his. He ought to go see those guys again.

Even as he thought this, Mitchell wondered what he should do this moment. It was all nice and hunky-dory talking about going to give his old buddies and mentors a call, but who said the cops hadn't gotten to them first? He'd have to wait a while. In the meantime, he'd have to get out of here.

And then there was his name. He had to get another cover-up name. They knew his name, and he'd have to come up with something else.

Mitchell wondered what to do. Suddenly he had an urge to smoke. Pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, he looked in the glove compartment for any matches or a lighter.

Instead, a small book fell out of the crammed glove compartment. Mitchell was suddenly curious, and picked it up. It said "The Prince" by Niccolo Machiavelli.

Niccolo. Mitchell couldn't help but like that name. Niccolo. He'd never heard of that name before. Nicholas, yeah. But Niccolo? There was a sinister sound to it.

Mitchell suddenly smiled. He had found himself a new first name.

What was this book about anyway? The Prince? Some kind of a fucking fairy tale or something? Flipping it open to a random page, he looked at the first words on the page.

_**Why the Italian princes have lost their States**_

Mitchell frowned. This was no fairy tale to be sure. This was a manual on how to be a proper prince or something like that. Hm, he thought, why not?

He read further;

_If he carefully observes the rules I have given above, a new prince will appear to have been long established and will quickly become more safe and secure in his governments than if he had been ruling his state for a long time. The actions of a new prince attract much more attention than those of a hereditary ruler; and when these actions are marked by prowess they, far more than royal blood, win men over and capture their allegiance._

Mitchell smiled. Joe might have read this book. But what were these rules? What the fuck had he talked about?

Suddenly a car horn pierced the silence. Mitchell's driving skills alone saved him from panicking and driving off the road. He steadied his nerves by swearing his head off at the offender.

He looked back at the book. This was interesting for Mitchell. He never liked books before, and only read them when they had something of value to him. Maybe this was something of value? He could use some words of advice anyway. Why not?

Meanwhile, though, he knew that he had to get himself a name. He liked the name Niccolo. That would work out for him just fine. He was Italian anyway, on his mother's side at least. Her name had been Irene Donati before changing it to Koons. Mitchell hadn't really gotten to know his mother very well, but he would know her name any time.

Just like the book, the thoughts of his mom suddenly made him get more inspiration. He'd use his mother's maiden name. Why the fuck not? Italians were all over this goddamn country, and nobody would expect him to do something that close to home. Not that they knew about his mother's surname.

So that was it then. Goodbye to Mr. Pink (God that name had been awful), and hello to Niccolo Donati. He took the liberty of taking a swig from the Sprite that he'd swiped from a store just before hitting the highway.

The newly christened Niccolo Donati smiled to himself as he turned onto the nearest highway that headed for the California/Arizona border.

**Author's Note=** _I make no claims to owning any of Tarantino's work, nor do I own the rights to Niccolo Machiavelli's fine words_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two; New Principalities Acquired with the Help of Fortune and Foreign Arms**

Niccolo had never driven so carefully in his life.

He knew that to get pulled over now was to seal his fate. He would have to shoot or drive his way out. He had taken a fully loaded pistol from one of the security guards that he'd subdued on his way out of prison, and knew that he had to save up his bullets until he got the money to get more. Or he could steal some more.

But for now, he was terrified of what would happen when he crossed the state. He hadn't thought about how he'd get across the security guards. He'd have to ditch the car and get walking as soon as he hit the next town. Based on the road signs, he was nearing Blythe, California. Hopefully it wasn't too small of a place.

As he drove on, he felt the heat really getting to him. He knew that he had to get something to drink. He was gonna fucking bake in this heat if he didn't drink something.

Driving into Blythe, he turned off the highway into one of the back roads. He saw stores and restaurants give way to houses. He knew that it would be very dangerous for him to rob anyone's house. He'd have to go into an empty house, steal whatever, and then hotwire a car to get out of there. Fuck. This was going to be completely annoying.

He looked around. He noticed that one of the houses looked especially tempting. No car in the driveway, on the far end of the curve, and as far as he could see, nobody inside.

Looking around carefully, Niccolo backtracked his trail, and parked the car near the opening of the crescent. He would have to walk towards the house and sneak in. That wouldn't be easy in his prison uniform. He glanced at the back of the car, looking for something in the back seat he could use. He saw a long sheet, and a brown overcoat. Perfect!

Grabbing the brown overcoat, he pulled it on awkwardly in his seat. Staring around for people, he didn't notice anyone except one little four-year-old playing on a porch. Niccolo sighed, and gingerly got out of the car.

He'd broken into homes several times before. His brother had shown him how to do it, and he'd watched a lot of crime movies as a kid. He had practised on his own house, locking himself out, and then he'd moved on to other people's houses. He had continued to practice until he'd become a proper professional.

Niccolo knew that he had to do something drastic this time. It was mid-afternoon, and he would draw too much attention to himself if he straight out tried to break in. He had to cause a big distraction. In this case there was only one thing to do.

He looked around in the car. If he was going to go through with his plan, he'd have to clean up anything he'd need later on. He took the sheet and wrapped it around himself. It would look ridiculous, but it would do to help him hide attention. Niccolo paused only once to tear a thick rag from the sheet.

Next, he tore a larger strip from the sheet, and folded it to be used as a bag. He looked around at the items in the car. The very first thing he put into the makeshift bag was _The Prince_. Next went the last few cigarettes from the glove compartment, along with a map of south-western U.S. of A., the half-full bottle of Sprite, and a Spanish-English dictionary. He didn't know when he'd need that, but better safe than sorry anyway.

He got out of the car, wrapping the sheet tight around him despite the heat.

Taking the small strip of cloth, he opened the lid of the filling point. Niccolo knew he had to move quickly; he opened the second lid to the gas tank. Clutching one end of the strip, he dangled the other end into the gas tank, soaking it in gasoline. Pulling it back out, he crumpled it into a small ball and sealed the lid on the gas tank. Stuffing the cloth over the second lid, he took out on of his last matches. The gasoline-soaked cloth lit quickly and easily. Niccolo knew he only had a few minutes to disappear.

Walking away as fast as he could without running, Niccolo turned the corner of the street, not even flinching as he heard the explosion. Niccolo heard screaming begin almost instantly from people in the houses.

Niccolo whipped away the sheet, pulling the overcoat to his body as he hopped the fence next to him. He kept running, almost dropping his bundle of belongings.

Jumping and running from one yard to the next, Niccolo ran up to the house that he'd noticed had been abandoned. He ran up to one of the back windows and broke it with a well-placed elbow.

The house was empty as far as he could tell. He had gotten into a small kitchen that looked like the person coming back had to prepare dinner immediately. The kitchen was clean, and ready to be used as soon as needed. Just what Niccolo needed.

Niccolo hurried over to the sink to wash his hands and face. He ran the cold water over his nose, ears, mouth, and eyelids. He swore at the icy sting of the water, but he didn't care. Fortune was finally turning in his favour.

Opening the fridge, he stared delightfully at the large plastic bottle of Pepsi and the smaller glass bottles of Coors beer. Grabbing the Pepsi, he downed as much as he could before coughing up frothy spit. Gulping in air almost as greedily as he had gulped the water, Niccolo tipped the Pepsi to his mouth again.

He noticed a slice of sirloin steak in the fridge. Somebody's dinner for tonight? Well it was Niccolo's now.

Pulling a pan out of one of the drawers, he cut a piece of butter from a bar in the fridge and turned the gas on. Ripping open cupboard doors, he sprinkled pepper and paprika powder on the meat before tossing it into the pan to sizzle.

Niccolo decided to get some more stuff, so he explored the house, pillaging whatever he needed to get him on through the day. He made sure that his gun was in ready reach. He didn't know how long he had, but he heard the steak sizzling, and his hunger convinced him to stay longer.

Eventually, after a thorough but quick search of the house, he had a change of clothes even as the ones he'd been wearing were soaked in gasoline and burning in the fireplace. His beard, which he'd grown in the year of prison time he'd had for working with the Cabots, was shaved off, though he'd kept his moustache. He had combed his hair properly again, the way he'd always worn it, and though the clothes were a size bigger than his usual clothes, it was a million times better than the prison clothes he'd been wearing.

He had a comb and switchblade in one of his pockets, a wallet in the other. The wallet had a thousand bucks in it. Poor sap. He must have had something special coming up. The problem was that he needed identification, and he'd been unable to get it from the prison authorities. He'd have to check with an old friend of his.

But in the meantime, he had a pale green rucksack filled with the essentials: a change of clothes, three bottles of cold water, a pack of cigarettes, some food that wouldn't go bad but keep him full, and some other things he felt like he'd need. The stuff he'd had before were also there. Except _The Prince_; Niccolo was reading it as he ate his steak. It really tasted good after all this time in prison. He knew he was an idiot for staying here longer than necessary, but he so badly wanted to eat some decent food again, that he just couldn't have gone without gorging himself.

As well as the steak, he tore open a pack of chicken strips to toast in the oven, some leftover Chinese food that he ate cold while waiting for the chicken, and some fresh carrots he munched on like Bugs Bunny facing the Famine of Egypt.

After a few sips of cold beer, Niccolo sighed. He'd been in there for an hour at least. He had enough now to survive here in Baker, but he couldn't stay here. He had to get out and go far. He had no car, and no ID. That would have to wait, but for now, he knew what to do.

He was just thinking that when he saw, through the the glass reflection, that a young Brazilian couple had walked into the house, yelling in surprise at the ransacked rooms.

Niccolo froze. He was trapped in the kitchen. He would have to kill them, or hold them hostage. Either way it was bad. He groaned inwardly; why the fucking hell hadn't he gotten out? He could have been on a bus to Phoenix by now. No, now he was fucking trapped!

He looked around. Come on, fortune couldn't leave him that fast! Now he was stuck with two foreigners jabbering in Portuguese in the other room.

He sighed, and pulled out his gun. He didn't want to have to use it, nor did he want to face them and risk identification.

Positioning himself next to the door, he listened carefully to their voices and footsteps. He heard them coming towards the door, and prepared to knock them out as they walked in. He put on a hat and sunglasses that he'd been preparing to wear later.

First the man came through, looking angry and confused. He never saw the gun hit the back of his head and knock him out.

The girl, seeing her husband fall like a stone, screamed. Niccolo knew he had to get going and fast. The girl was either gonna be a hero or a damsel, and he wasn't interested in either. He just needed to run.

He opened the back door and hurried out, carrying the bag with the stuff in it. He heard her shrieking behind him but didn't look around.

Hurling the bag over the far end of the fence, he climbed over as fast as he could, hoping to God that she didn't have a gun or something.

No shot rang out as he power-walked down the street, trying not to look too scared or wired up. He wished he still had his fake facial hair; they'd been real vintage collectors, purchased by his brother for him as a birthday preasant.

Well, never mind that, he thought. Now I have to get to Phoenix, Arizona and meet a friend concerning identification.

As he walked, he cracked open Machiavelli's _The Prince_ and began readingto calm his nerves.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three; The Things for Which Men, and Especially Princes, are Praised or Blamed  
**

Niccolo headed for the Arizona and California Railroad: from here he could go to Phoenix, where friends would take him in.

He decided to call them before showing up; taking a ten-dollar bill, he looked for a place that he could buy a small snack and get change.

He went into a small variety store and bought himself some snacks. Then he headed over to the nearest phone booth. After all this time he still knew which number to dial. At least, he hoped he knew.

The phone rang three times on the other end. Niccolo cursed his ill fortune at this. What a fucking break! He had to get out of here!

Just as he was about to snap the phone's handle in two, a voice spoke up on the other end of the line, "Yeah, who the fuck is this?"

Niccolo sighed, "Charley, what's up?"

Charley spoke again, surprised and amazed, "Jesus, I'll be damned! It's you!"

Niccolo laughed and scratched his moustache out of impulse, "Yeah, it's been so fucking long. I thought I was gonna rot in that fucking prison!"

"Yeah we heard about your escapades, Mr. Pink!"

Niccolo groaned, "Fuck, man don't ever call me that again. If I live to be a hundred I don't never wanna hear that name again."

"So what should I call you now?"

"Call me Niccolo. Niccolo Donati."

"Sweet Christ you always picked the best names. How'd you get this one?"

"Inspiration. Now listen up, I need your help."

"Wait, what kind of inspiration?"

"God came down from heaven. I've got something to tell you."

Just as he was saying this, he noticed the music playing in the background. It was Peter Gabriel's "Sledgehammer". Normally, Niccolo would have loved to hear that song, but now he would be glad to never hear that song again. It had been one of the last songs he had heard before the robbery. Jesus, what a miserable memory to attach to such a fucking amazing song.

He spoke to Charley, "Can you turn that shit off? I don't want you to misunderstand me."

Charley sighed, "Fine." He turned off the music, "So what is it?"

Niccolo leaned closer into the phone handle, "Okay, I need you to give me the address of a guy that can forge ID cards. Driver's license, the works. Somebody good."

Charley chuckled, "Well it's a bit quick, but where are you calling from?"

"I'm in Blythe, California. Anyone good here?"

"Actually, yeah, last I figured. There's a guy named Bronson Blitzer. He's a good man, I knew him in grade school. He'll give you great stuff, it'll fool most anybody. I'd worry about using it in airports, though. No guarantees on that one."

Niccolo sighed, "Damn. Well I'll just have to get smuggled down south or up north. Which do you think is more likely?"

Charley grunted as he thought about it, "Well I can't really tell, man. Canada's a good place to hide out, but Mexico's easier to get into. It's your call, man. But I don't think you should be thinking of leaving the country yet, dude. You still have to get that ID from Mr. Blitzer."

Niccolo paused, "You know I've heard that name somewhere before."

"Blitzer? Oh, well he had a kid brother in the Hollywood business but he got too involved in the drugs and got himself killed a few months ago. Bronson's much more fucking sensible."

"Good. I don't want to find out he's a coke mule for Don Corleone or something." Niccolo paused, and asked, "How much does he usually ask for?"

"Depends. But the absolute lowest price he'll ask for is five grand, and only then if he knows you and respects you."

"Shit."

"Oh don't worry, I'll give him the heads up, he'll know I vouch for you."

"It's not that, it's just that I've only got a thousand right now."

"Jesus, man, you better find the rest of that quick."

Niccolo ground his teeth; easy for this motherfucker to say, but he was on the run here and he knew that the cops would be looking for a guy his size wearing the clothes he had stolen from the house. He needed to buy some new clothes to throw them off his trail. Maybe get a fake beard as well. And on top of this all, he needed to get a whole load of money. Five grand at the very least; and even after that he would need money to survive.

Pulling on the overcoat to hide his shirt, he entered the nearest clothes store.

The place was small; he could see to the end of the store, and he saw that there were only two or three people in the store. He glanced at the girl at the till, "Where's the men's clothes?"

She pointed at the far end of the store. Damn. If he was caught, he would be trapped like a rat. Oh well, he thought, I'll take that risk.

Niccolo began hastily picking clothes for himself, so that he had four different kinds of shirts to switch between to avoid identification. Plus he had two types of common pants that could never be counted on to pick him out of a crowd of people. Buying these and other articles of clothing, Niccolo immediately went back to the change room and changed into the clothes he just bought. The Brazilian's clothes were put in an empty cardboard box under the seat in the change room. Nobody would bother looking in there anyway.

Niccolo left the store as soon as he could. Wearing his new clothes, he felt a comfort in the fact that he had once again thrown off his trail. What a relief, he thought, to be able to avoid the fear of cops and focus on the problem of getting out for good.

His wanderings led him to a small motel that looked really anonymous. Niccolo judged it to be a pretty good spot for a bit of shuteye. He headed into the main entrance.

The man behind the counter was a heavy set guy that looked like a retired wrestler who'd let his body run to fat. Still, the guy had a big shotgun behind him on the wall. He glanced at Niccolo with a welcome but reserved eye, "How are you doing?"

Niccolo shrugged, "I don't know. But I'll take a room for two nights, please."

The guy rang it up and charged him. Niccolo had to stop himself from sighing as he peeled more money from his depleting wealth. He really needed to find some cash and fast.

But it was too late for that; he was dead tired and wanted to go to sleep. The bed was comfortable, the room was a pretty good temperature, and Niccolo fell asleep like a light after setting his alarm clock to 6:30 AM.

"""" """" """ "" " ""

Waking up, he took his belongings with him as he headed out. He didn't ever leave anything valuable out of his sight. Not ever. Except in a hiding spot.

He shuddered as he thought of the diamonds. Man he missed those. He'd gone through hell to get them, with some real fucked up people. It was a good thing they had all died. He had been the smartest one of them anyway. Except for that Mr. Blue. That guy had known his shit more than anyone at that table except for Joe. They must have known each other for a long time. He had been shocked to hear that Mr. Blue was dead: he had thought the guy would have gotten out of there.

Finally, he realized what he ought to do. He ought to rob a place, but what? What place should he rob? He was alone, with limited ammunition. The options were really limited.

He swore in frustration and went into a restaurant to eat some breakfast.

The waitress was pretty; the look that implies the fact that she's lived in this town all her life. But Niccolo couldn't help but notice the individual strands of hair falling down on her forehead, the swell of her breasts coming out of the shirt, the poised position she was standing in. She didn't notice his scrutiny, somehow, "Can I help you, sir?"

"Yeah, I'll take some coffee, bacon, sausages, hash browns, and scrambled eggs. I'll take my coffee black, two sugars, no cream."

"Is that everything?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"Okay I'll be right back with your coffee." She turned and left.

Niccolo heard the genuine good nature in the voice and knew that he wouldn't feel right about looking her up. Shit, she wasn't just playing a role here, she liked talking to people, it was a job she liked to do. She had smiled at him when she left, and she seemed to really appreciate him being in the resaurant.

He looked around. It looked like a pretty good place, lots of money invested, insured and everything. There was a young couple sitting off at a table not far from him, and a whole bunch of other characters in the restaurant. There were a bunch of other couples all around him, and they didn't look nearly as shady as he felt. So she wasn't looking for his money; she was actually a really nice person. Niccolo sighed and cracked open his book, The Prince.

He'd finished reading the book as he'd walked away from the Brazilians' house. It had been a quick scan and everything, though, so now he was just re-reading whatever part he opened up to. Here was the section **The Things for Which Men, and Especially Princes, are Praised or Blamed.**

Hm, why not? He thought. Reading down the section, he didn't see any lines that really stood out on their own, except the last lines on the matter.

_So a prince has of necessity to be so prudent that he knows how to escape the evil reputation attached to those vices which could lose him his state, and how to avid those vices which are not so dangerous, if he possibly can; but, if he cannot, he need not worry so much about the latter. And then. he must not flinch from being blamed for vices which are necessary for safeguarding the state. This is because, taking everything into account, he will find that some of the things that appear to be virtues will, if he practices them, ruin him, and some of the things that appear to be vices will bring him security and prosperity._

That was one smart guy, Niccolo thought as he looked at the picture of the man on the cover of the book. Machiavelli had hit the nail on the head. Things that had to be done might look like bad things, but they had to be done to make him succeed. And some things that were considered good could get him killed in a specific kind of situation.

He was still thinking that when the girl brought him first his coffee, and then his breakfast. She smiled and asked how the book was. Trying not to show his impatience, he told her it was a very inspiring book that ought to be read by more people. He had the feeling that this would have led into a long conversation if she hadn't had other tables.

Hm, why not? he thought. He wouldn't mind a simple conversation right about now. He hadn't talked to anyone on relaxed terms for more than a year. Not since the breakfast before the heist that had put him in jail.

He drank his coffee down, and raised his cup for a refill. He had always liked to drink six cups of coffee in the morning. It hadn't helped his nerves. That had been the toughest part about jail. His coffee addiction had made his life hell in there, but it had eventually gone away. Now he no longer saw the sense in so much caffeine. Hell, two times would be fine.

He thanked the waitress, whose name tag read "Sharon". Nice girl, Niccolo thought for the umpteenth time. Sure was special, that girl.

_What's special? Taking you in the back and sucking your dick?_

Niccolo jumped as Mr. Blue's mockery suddenly rang through his head like a church bell. He heard the laughter of the others as Nice Guy Eddie's voice broke in, _I'd go over twelve percent for that_!

Niccolo sighed. How had Mr. Blue known about his hidden job as a waiter? Granted he'd never said anything to Niccolo, but Niccolo was sure that Blue had known. It had been in his voice as he'd attacked his idea of not tipping. Must have thought it a hypocritical thing for a waiter to say.

Funny enough, it was pretty hypocritical, but Niccolo had only taken the job as an alibi. He had despised the job, preferring to have a little affair with Brigitte Bardot on her break. He wondered if she'd ever seen Mr. Blue at Jack Rabbit Slims before. If he hadn't been on the run he would have called her up.

Suddenly a man's voice broke through his thoughts, "Everybody be cool, this is a robbery!"

Of course, some people screamed. Niccolo even heard the waitress' individual scream amongst the frightened people. His hand instantly when for where his gun was even as he put his book back in the rucksack.

A woman's voice broke through, foully swearing as she herded people to one side of the restaurant.

Niccolo ducked down in his seat, crawling from one place to the next to avoid the eyes of the two robbers. They were too busy with the other people in the store to notice one guy who they hadn't seen in the first place.

That gave Niccolo the advantage. He prepared to shoot them both as they were distracted.

The man paced around on the tops of tables, ranting and raving like a man with a fierce temper but a firm hold on his position. He would call out to his girl, calling her 'honey bunny' as she helped him rob the place.

Niccolo noticed the waitress, cowering with some other people, and he felt a pang of sadness. He felt pissed off at these two idiots for fucking up his breakfast. He ought to scare the shit out of them here and now, but then someone's words broke into his thoughts.

_...taking everything into account, he will find that some of the things that appear to be virtues will, if he practices them, ruin him, and some of the things that appear to be vices will bring him security and prosperity._

Niccolo paused in amazement at this revelation, and knew that there was only one thing to do. It was a dick move, but it was the one thing that would keep him alive and prosperous. It would get him the money he needed, and he would avoid identification.

He crawled to the bathroom, and quickly changed his clothes. taking out his sunglasses and hat, he wrapped a handkerchief around his nose like in one of those classic Western films.

He peered out of the bathroom door to see if they were finished. These two were taking the wallets of the people, and had already emptied the cash register.

Cocking his gun, Niccolo prepared to make his move, guided by Machiavelli and waiting for the moment when they'd finished taking the loot.

They finished quick enough, he noted. He must have either taken really long to change, or these two weren't such amateurs as he thought.

The two of them headed out for the door.

That was the signal for Niccolo, and he burst out of the bathroom as silently as he could and began running for the door just as people were still looking up disoriented. Anyway, only one person would recognize him and he a good feeling that she wouldn't put two and two together for a while. Based on her shaking and look of horror, this was her very first robbery. He almost felt sorry for her, but he was determined to do what had to be done.

The two robbers were hurrying to their car. The man was carrying a garbage bag with the money and wallets inside. Niccolo screamed out his challenge, "Hey! Bonnie and Clyde!"

They both turned around, and never even had the time to raise their guns.

Niccolo's aim was still good, especially at close range. The two went down with bullets in their heads, dropping the money and their guns.

Grabbing the bag and the guns, Niccolo hurled them into the car and grabbed the car keys out of the dead man's pocket. Putting his rucksack in the seat next to him, he drove off as fast as could without attracting attention to himself, and pulled into an alleyway.

He began to go through the wallets, pulling money out of them but leaving the identifications alone. The wallets alone gave him six thousand, while the cash register was worth two. Niccolo's fingers began to tremble with excitement. He'd take the money but drop off the wallets at the police station. First he'd take care of this car, though.

Taking the valuables out of the car, he took the handkerchief off his face and dabbed it in gas from the gas tank. Lighting it with the very last of his matches, he bolted out the other side of the alleyway and headed for the police station even as he saw cars heading for the restaurant.

Dropping the garbage bag next to the door after making sure he avoided the security camera, Niccolo turned and headed off to find Mr. Blitzer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four; Generosity and Parsimony  
**

Niccolo walked up to Bronson Blitzer's door and knocked three times softly.

Almost on impulse now, he took out _The Prince_ and opened to a new spot. It was called "Generosity and Parsimony". Niccolo grinned at this one; his philosophy of no tipping would probably come up in this.

He got halfway through the section when the door opened. A middle-aged man stood there, staring through bloodshot eyes at the man in front of him.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Niccolo Donati. Charley said I'd be coming."

Blitzer nodded, "Alright. Come on in, but Jesus did you have to be so early?"

Niccolo frowned, and looked at his watch, "It's ten o' clock in the fucking morning. What time do you get up at?"

Blitzer did his own version of a double take, "Ten? Goddamn it, my clock stopped again."

He led Niccolo in, silently asking for the payment. Niccolo obliged, handing him five thousand dollars cash. The rest of the money he had- almost four thousand- was strapped in a small belt under his pants' waistline. He wasn't gonna get pick-pocketed by any loser.

Blitzer took him through a little hallway. As they walked past different doors, Niccolo noticed a young woman stretching in the sunlight. She was very short, and had a bit of a pot belly. But that aside, she looked very calm and graceful. Niccolo turned back to Blitzer in surprise, "Who was that?"

"One of my boarders. She and her husband live together here." Blitzer couldn't have possibly been more plain.

Niccolo grinned, "Who is this husband, Marsellus Wallace?" Marsellus had always been one of the top gangsters in L.A., and after Joe's death, his crime empire flourished with the fall of the Cabots. Niccolo had heard about him. He was apparently married to a former actress and had a slew of badass motherfuckers working for him, though quite a few of the most prolific- Tony Rocky Horror, Vincent Vega, Jules Winfield- had gone off the radar in the last year.

Blitzer didn't laugh, "I wouldn't say that name around here. The husband is Butch Coolidge."

It was Niccolo's turn to double-take. Butch fucking Coolidge? _Here_?

Blitzer grinned at Niccolo's reaction, "Alright, Nick, stand over there." He pointed to a big black screen and a camera.

Niccolo posed for the photos, and then waited around while Blitzer began work on the driver's license and health card and the rest.

As Blitzer worked, there was a sudden scraping of a key and then an opening of the front door. A rugged man in his late prime stepped through the door, his head shaved and his face impassive. It was Butch Coolidge, the man Niccolo had seen on tv in prison, boxing away with fighters ten years younger than him. He was still a monster of a guy; he'd accidentally killed his opponent around the same time that Niccolo had been sentenced to life sentence in prison. Rumour had it that he was being exiled from L.A. for refusing to take a fall for Marsellus Wallace.

Butch gave a quick glance at Niccolo, who nodded greetings to the boxer. Butch responded with a grunt, and closed the door. Just as he was shutting the door, Niccolo saw a flash of light on his wrist, and noticed a gold watch wrapped tightly around his arm.

The girl Niccolo had seen earlier came out of her room and embraced Butch. Butch's rough features seemed to melt when he saw her and he kissed her a few times in silent affection.

The girl noticed Niccolo after ten minutes (God but they were in love, Niccolo thought to himself) and smiled a greeting, "Hey, are you here to see Bronson?" Her accent was surprisingly lilting, and Niccolo would have been friendly to her if Butch hadn't been standing there. Niccolo didn't want to get killed like that boxer.

Instead, he kept his voice neutral, "Yeah I'm a friend of a friend down on his luck."

"You must be some friend, he doesn't make a lot of pay cuts,' Butch said as he took off his jacket.

Niccolo grinned, "What can I say?" After a pause he spoke up, "So how do you know him?"

He half-expected Butch to say, "None of your business, asshole," but instead he responded to the question, "We're laying low for a bit right now, and I'm running through some boxing matches to make him some money. That, and the rent we give him, keeps us safe in this town."

Niccolo raised an eyebrow, "Didn't know you needed that kind of protection."

Butch looked confused, "What's that mean?"

Niccolo shrugged, "Heard stuff about you when I was in prison. Mr. Floyd's downfall was big news in the can."

Butch paused, judging the response, and shrugged, "That was a year ago, and they deemed it an accident, so it doesn't matter."

Blitzer suddenly came into the room again, "Okay, Nick, the editing is done, so I'll just be an hour or so if you care to know."

Niccolo nodded, "Sure thing."

Butch looked from Blitzer back to Niccolo, "Nick? I'm Butch. But you knew that. This is Fabienne."

Niccolo nodded politely, "Niccolo Donati."

Butch shook hands with him, and then glanced at him in curiosity, "Are you a good friend of Carlo Jimmenez?"

Niccolo shrugged, "Charley? Yeah he vouched for me to Bronson."

Butch nodded slowly, "Well, listen, were planning on leaving California anytime soon?"

Niccolo paused, wondering whether to trust this guy, and then nodded, "Yeah, I'm going east. Why?"

Butch leaned in, as though afraid the walls would be listening, "Okay, so what do you know about the Coolidge-Floyd fight a year ago?"

"I know you killed the guy and left L.A. for good."

"Yeah well you don't know shit then. I'll fill in the details; you know Marsellus Wallace?"

"Like hell I do. The guy's not to be messed with."

"Well you're looking at a guy who messed with him and lived. I made a secret bet with a partner on my victory, even while Marsellus was paying me to take a fall. So it worked out, and the money rolled in, according to Scotty."

"So he took the money?"

"Fuckin' A. Fabienne and I were going to go on a train and head off to Tennessee and meet the guy with the money in hand. But then some stuff happened that put us off track. So we had to get out of L.A. by sundown as fast as we could before Marsellus came after our asses."

"So what? It takes just a few days to get to Tennessee.' Niccolo replied. He was wondering where this would go.

Butch continued, "Well, the thing was, one of the things that got in our way was the fact that we tried going on trains that would eventually get to Knoxville, since we didn't make it to our scheduled train. But then when we stopped off in Albuquerque, we heard that Scotty had split with our money. There was no telling where the fuck he'd gone, but I had a vague idea. Since then, we've been chasing the fucker down."

"You've been running after a guy for a whole year?" Niccolo was incredulous. That was dedication.

Butch paused, "Well, not really. We had no place to stay, and we found out that Fabienne was pregnant only two weeks after hearing about Scotty. So we turned back to California and stayed with Bronson here to raise the kid."

As if on cue, a baby started to cry, prompting soft singing in French, coming from Fabienne in the other room.

Niccolo smiled, "Boy?"

Butch smiled and nodded, "Ernie, like his great-great-grandfather." Niccolo noticed how Butch fondled the gold watch on his wrist as he said that.

Niccolo spoke again, "But back to this guy, Scotty."

Butch nodded, "Yeah, it's like this. Scotty's gone underground in Shreveport, Louisiana. He's apparently still got most of the money; he wants to wait a while before making himself prominent, but he must be sitting pretty happy there, the fucker. I want to go there personally and kill the son of a bitch."

Niccolo gave a little shudder; he'd hate to have Butch as an enemy, "Where the hell do I come into this, then?"

Butch looked at him, "You help me get there. Your man Carlo can get us there much easier, with free pass, and then we can get back here just as quick."

Niccolo frowned, "It's gonna be real fucking tough to do that, man. Carlo won't do that for free, and aside from money, you've got nothing."

Butch shrugged, "Sure, give him a cut. I'm taking his share as well as mine. He's lost all rights to it, as far as I'm concerned."

Niccolo sighed, "Fine. But still." He wasn't sure why he was so hesitant with this guy. He had no problem with Butch, but his gut was telling him against getting involved in this vedetta.

This was, of course, because he could not help but think about the passage he'd just read on Machiavelli's view of generosity and parsimony. The line that had stuck in his mind was this: _I say it would be splendid if one had a reputation for generosity; none the less if you do in fact earn a reputation for generosity you will come to grief. This is because if your generosity is good and sincere, it may pass unnoticed and it will not save you from being reproached for its opposite. _

Butch looked imploringly at Niccolo, "Listen, this is hard for me to say, alright? Please help me. I'm not that popular of a boxer anymore. And I want my kid to be able to grow up good."

Niccolo glanced at the watch again; he liked it the more he saw of it. It was worth at least three million as an antique, and that was opening bid. A man could make a fortune for life with that little trinket. But something told him not to talk about it; he could tell that Butch valued it a great deal.

He looked at Butch, and knew that he shouldn't get wrapped up in this guy's personal beef. But his conscience couldn't help but wonder about his position.

"How long could you live the way you're at now?" He asked Butch.

Butch frowned, fearing a rejection, "We're on the edge of it man. Bronson's helping out for now, but I can't box forever. I want to settle down with the money I earned. I want to raise my boy with a sane head rather than having it battered to death. I need your help to set it right."

Niccolo groaned, "I can't possibly be your last hope; I just met you for Christ's sake!"

Butch was relentless, "You're not the first person I've talked to. I tried to get Winston Wolf to help me out, but I couldn't afford his prices. My cousin works for Vincenzo Coccotti, but he didn't help either. You're the first guy who could help me to convince Carlo Jimmenez to find Scotty and get my money."

Niccolo paused, wondering what to do. He himself was going to meet up with Charley anyway, but now this would be serious. What was he getting himself into?

He looked at Butch, and sighed, "I really don't know man, I-"

Suddenly there was a fierce knocking on the door. A harsh voice spoke up, "Open up in there! This is the police!"

Out from behind his door, Bronson cursed, and peeped out from behind it, "Son of a bitch! Lock the door, quick!"

Butch jumped like a tiger towards the door, sealing the chain lock. Fabienne came out of the other room, carrying a little baby that was starting to cry again from the knocking.

Bronson looked at Butch, "Ask them which cop it is."

Without hesitating, Fabienne went to the door, "Who is this?"

"The police!"

"Can I see some identification?"

There was some grumbling, and then Fabienne peeked through the eye-hole, she called out, "Closer, please, my eyesight is horrible." and after a pause, said, "Okay, just let me put the baby in his crib."

She hurried over to Bronson, "It's a man named Scagnetti, Mr. Blitzer."

Bronson gave a sigh of relief, "Good. It's Scagnetti; him I can deal with." He turned to Niccolo, "As long as _you_ stay the fuck out of sight!"

Niccolo sprang up, "Gotcha." He hurried into one of the rooms to hide further.

Butch glanced at Bronson, who went to the door after securely locking his technical equipment up.

"Hello, Jack. How's Seymour doing?"

"Never mind that, Bronson. We're looking for a known murderer and thief. Mitchell Koons, alias Mr. Pink, alias Jack Fremlin, alias Sidney Poe, alias "Ringo Starr" Samson, alias etc."

Niccolo could see Butch go still, and with a shocked expression on his face, looked directly at the room that Niccolo was hiding in. It was a good thing that Jack Scagnetti couldn't see Butch's reaction.

Bronson pulled a wad of dollar bills- in fact, part of the same payment Niccolo just gave to Bronson, Niccolo realized- and said, "There's nobody here by that name here, Jack. If I see anyone by that name, I'll call the police and tell them where he is."

Jack seemed to be mollified, because he took the money and bade Bronson a cheerful farewell. Niccolo realized that Jack didn't give a fuck if he was here or not. He was using this as an excuse to extort money from Bronson. He smiled to himself as he once again saw how the police could be corruptible.

Hell, he thought. Might as well go along with Butch and get some profit out of this. He'd be going all the way to Louisiana, and he'd have an excuse to get rich. So far, so good.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five; The Constitutional Principality  
**

Niccolo stared at his new ID cards with admiration. This was truly his money's worth.

He looked up to where Butch was still staring at him with a certain wonder and puzzlement. Niccolo wondered what the fuck Butch was thinking of.

He found out soon enough. Butch sat down next to him, "You didn't tell me your last name was Koons!"

Niccolo glanced sardonically at him, "That's what a fake name is for."

Butch paled, but not because of Niccolo's sarcasm, but because of his acknowledgment, "You got a relative from the army?"

Niccolo grimaced, "Yeah I got an uncle, Captain from Vietnam. Old and crazy as a loon."

Rage flashed through Butch's eyes at the mention of Niccolo's insults, "That's a great man you're talking about!"

Niccolo looked back at him, "And he's my uncle, and a mean son of a bitch if ever there was one."

Butch said nothing. He couldn't say anything at this point; Niccolo was Koons' nephew after all, but he seemed prepared to tell him something about Koons. Niccolo was suddenly curious to hear what the mad Captain had done for this man.

"Well, anyway, we have to get going to Phoenix, Butch."

Butch was suddenly reluctant, and he spoke up, "Do you think we could go see your uncle first?"

Niccolo was about to shout, "What the fuck!" when he checked himself into pausing. There was a small child in the room, and he didn't want to upset either Butch or Fabienne. Instead, he gave Butch a look and asked as calmly as he could why that was so important.

"Because I owe that man a lot and I never thanked him," Butch replied.

Niccolo sighed, "What in God's name am I gonna do? I'm a wanted man, they'll be asking my family where I am and they'll think that they can get me through Captain Koons and his kids. I'm not going to go to prison again, even if my uncle did you the biggest favour of your life."

Butch sighed angrily, "There's gotta be a way for me to see him."

Niccolo growled, "Here. Maybe we can't see him, but we can definitely talk to him."

"" "" " "" "" "" "" ""

Niccolo and Butch headed over to a pay phone.

He glanced at Butch, "So why did you never think of this before?"

Butch shrugged uneasily, "I know. It's been bugging me a long time. It's just that I was in with Marcellus and I didn't want to put him through any trouble. Plus I didn't know where he lived. Couldn't find an address anywhere in California. Where is he, anyway?"

"He's in Nevada. So we'll be paying a pretty penny to call him up. And even then I can't guarantee he'll be there."

Butch seemed mollified, and they headed to a pay phone.

Niccolo was surprised to see that his fingers were shaking as he dialed in the numbers. What was he scared of? Old Koons was a crazy nut, sure, but he was miles away. He had nothing to fear. Anyway, he'd give the phone over to Butch quick and that would be that.

The phone rang over and over on the other side. Niccolo was about to hang up, when suddenly, "Hello?"

It was Jim, Captain Koons' son. Niccolo almost hung up before answering, "It's me. Mitch."

Jim was surprised. Niccolo could tell from his voice when he said, "Mitchell? What are you doing?"

Niccolo spoke quickly, "No time to explain, get me your dad. Now."

"Hang on! What the hell is all this?" Jim spoke back, "You broke out of jail, man! We had the cops come over here and interrogate us! You know how much stink you brought on us? Jesus Christ, you just have to do this!"

"Fuck you, alright? I didn't want this! Get me your fucking dad! I got someone here who wants to talk to him. It's a guy named Coolidge!"

There was a pause, and then Jim spoke in a less hostile voice, "Coolidge? Butch Coolidge?"

Niccolo spoke quickly, impatient with his cousin, "Yeah, the guy who your old man did a big-ass favour for."

Jim spoke up, "I'll go get Dad. He's always followed Butch's career on the radio and he's been hoping to talk to him."

Niccolo handed the phone over to Butch, "He's on his way."

As Butch waited for his call, Niccolo thought about the last time he'd seen his uncle and his cousin.

_"What the fuck were you thinking!" Captain Koons roared out in a rage-choked snarl._

_Mitchell stood there, taking it in, angry yet terrified of this man in front of him. This guy, after all, had been to Vietnam and had killed people. And he was a bit over the edge as far as Mitchell was concerned._

_Mitchell had been kicked out of college. Paid for by Captain Koons, to get his nephew the future he'd promised his dying brother in Vietnam. Based on all those problems, Mitchell thought, Koons had made a promise he couldn't keep. He didn't want to be in school, he didn't want to fit into a small little office space or work ten hours a day. It was no way to live. He had plenty of money from his little side operations with Charley Jimmenez. He could get a full-time partnership with his buddy when they got established with their marijuana trade. They'd try and get cocaine as soon as possible and then they'd really hit it big._

_Koons was not aware just how deep Mitchell was involved with Charley's operations, but he knew that the twenty-year old was behaving like an idiot with his future. Or so he thought._

_Mitchell now stared balefully at his uncle, who asked him again, "What the fuck were you thinking?"_

_Mitchell spoke up, "You gonna let me answer that question?"_

_Koons pointed a finger at his nephew, no longer yelling, "Don't you goddamn start on me. I ain't the one that flunked out and fooled around."_

_Mitchell growled, "I didn't flunk out!"_

_"You had a B- average! The last time a son of mine got a B- average I kicked his little ass." It was strange, he was the only guy Mitchell knew that sounded more dangerous when he wasn't yelling. He could put a huge amount of threat into his menacing tone._

_Mitchell tried not to show his hesitation, "Well I'm not your son."_

_"Which I say a Hail Mary in thanks for every day! If only your father were here to see you like this."_

_"What the hell does that mean?"_

_"Look at you, you dumb punk,' Koons leered, scorn dripping from his words, 'You are pathetic. No big college will take you and you can't hold down a job for more than three months."_

_"You know my views on that subject!" Mitchell snarled, "If the minimum wage workers want to sweat it out then fine, let 'em. I'm not gonna play ball and that's that."_

_Koons sighed, prompting Mitchell to address another point his uncle had made, "And what's with that bull shit about no big college wanting me? Two of them offered to me."_

_Koons interrupted, fury etched on his face, "And it wasn't because of your grades, that's for fucking sure."_

_Mitchell stared at his uncle, "What's that mean?"_

_"I pulled big strings to get them to care about you, you little piece of shit. You're nothing compared to people who work for their futures. You think the sun shines outta your ass? You're a disgrace to the family name! You would have broken your father's heart if he saw how his son turned out."_

_"Fuck you!" Mitchell burst out._

_Koons paused, looking murderous. Nobody swore like that to him, "I'm sorry, I didn't hear that. Could you say that again?"_

_Mitchell felt rage inside him give him courage. He took a step forward, "I said fuck you! Fuck you and fuck your wife and your kids and fuck the family name! You think you're a saint or something? You promised your brother you'd kick his son through life and expect a thank-you from him? Fuck you! I don't owe you anything! You know what you are? You're the wrong brother that came home!"_

_That did it. Before he knew it, Mitchell was suddenly lying on his back, his nose exploding in pain. When he felt it, he could tell that it was broken. He looked up at Koons, who stood over him, looking angry, but also surprised._

_Mitchell gave a small smile, belying the pain that was hurting him so much, and spat at Koons' feet, "I'll live to dance on your grave, cocksucker."_

_Koons threw him out of the house that day. Mitchell went to go meet up with Charley, and so began his career of crime._

Snapping out of his flashback, Niccolo noticed Butch was happily chatting into the phone. To hide his bitterness, Niccolo began reading _The Prince_ again. He opened to the chapter, "The Constitutional Principality".

Normally he had enjoyed and appreciated the parallels in Machiavelli's advice to the choices he made, but now his heart was filled with a sudden, saddening realization as he read,

_A man who becomes prince by with the help of the nobles finds it more difficult to maintain his position than one who does so with the help of the people. As prince, he finds himself surrounded by many who believe they are his equals and because of that he cannot command or manage them the way he wants. A man who becomes prince by favour of the people finds himself standing alone, and he has near him either no one or very few not prpepared to take orders. In addition, it is impossible to satisfy the nobles honourably, wihtout doing violence to the interests of others; but this can be done as far as the people are cooncerned._

Niccolo thought about how Koons' influence had been the only thing that had put him in university. When he disappointed Koons, he threw Niccolo out. Was it the same thing with Charley? Niccolo wondered if that was true.

He suddenly had a bad feeling about something. He looked at Butch, who'd hung up, "Butch! We gotta go back now!"

Butch looked around, "Why? What's the matter? Cops?"

"No, just follow me!"

The two of them headed back to Blitzer's house, and as they hurried on, Butch asked what was wrong.

Niccolo answered, "You were right about Blitzer's lack of friends. He's gonna rip me off, I know it. And maybe you too, since you depend on him so much. Let's get out of here."

Butch was confused, "Well what the fuck are we gonna do about Ernie and Fabienne? We gotta go see Jimmenez, yeah, but they need to stay out of harm's way."

Niccolo was impatient to get out of here, "We'll find them a fucking place, alright? Just out of California."

Butch shrugged as he pulled out his key and went in, followed by Niccolo.

Niccolo motioned to where Fabienne and Ernie were clearly sitting, based on the laughter from the closed door. Butch nodded and went to get ready to leave. Niccolo headed for his own things.

Luckily he hadn't taken much out. Hastily packing it again, he made sure his gun was fully loaded before hiding under his sleeve. He held his arm parallel to the floor so that it wouldn't fall out.

He looked around, and saw Blitzer standing there, a gun stuffed in his pants in plain sight. The man looked confused, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Charley called. I gotta get going,' Niccolo replied.

Blitzer grimaced, "Not until you pay."

"Pay what? I already paid you."

"Hey, that fucking tripe was pennies. Plus I had to get rid of a lot of it because of fucking Jack Scagnetti. Now you pay me ten thousand to compensate. Five for the money I gave to Scagnetti, five to me."

Niccolo knew that this was a very dangerous situation. He had one chance to act, and he had to know it when it came. Niccolo prayed that the heated voices would cause Butch to hide his family out of sight.

Niccolo spoke again, louder to buy time, "What are you talking about?"

Blitzer stared with contempt at him, "Now I know why Joe named you Mr. Pink. You really have no muscle outside of what Charley does. Well let me tell you this, Charley won't go to war over you. You got elevated beyond your status just because you leeched onto that Latino bastard. I can take care of Charley, soon as I take care of you if you don't pay up now."

Niccolo nodded, and lowered his sleeve slowly so that the gun began to slide down towards his hand. Meanwhile, his left hand dropped the bag he was carrying and pulled out money from his pocket and hand it towards Blitzer. It was all the money he had; four thousand. Blitzer was gonna get pissed, but he'd be staring at the money.

He was right. Blitzer frowned as he mentally counted the money in Niccolo's hand, "What the fuck is that? You kidding me Nic-"

He looked at the dark red stain on his shirt, and he made a deep shuddering whimper from the pain. To shut him up, Niccolo shot Blitzer in the forehead, just as Mr. White had told him Mr. Brown had been killed. Some black cop had shot Mr. Brown as he'd picked up White and Orange from the heist.

He looked up and called, "Butch! Get Fabienne and the kid outta here, and everything you need to bring. We're gonna burn this place down."

Butch's voice rang out, over the sobs of his wife, "What about Blitzer?"

Niccolo looked down at Blitzer's body, remembering how Machiavelli had predicted this lack of power to a prince promoted by his peers. He gave a smile of satisfaction at the advantage that the book had given him.

He spoke again, "Blitzer's not objecting. Now let's get outta here."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six; How Far Human Affairs are Governed by Fortune and how Fortune can be Opposed Part 1  
**

Raiding Blitzer's house, Niccolo knew he had to move fast. After Fabienne and Ernie were out of the house, he told Butch to find the gasoline to set the house on fire. He didn't want any evidence against to be discovered by the police.

He ransacked the money in the house, finding a hundred thousand at least. Niccolo's hands trembled as he packed the money in a small bag. It had taken him a long time to find Blitzer's hiding spot, clearly meant to serve as an emergency cash flow. He had spent the last half hour tearing up the house from top to bottom as fast as he could while Butch took the car keys, gave them to Fabienne, and went back inside to stand guard, Blitzer's shotgun in his hand.

Niccolo smiled to himself as he finished collecting the money. Butch might want a cut of that, and he'd lie about the amount he'd found. Butch owed him anyway. He was going to introduce him to Charley.

When he'd finished, he yelled out to Butch, "You found the gasoline yet?"

"Yeah,' Butch replied, 'Let's get the fuck outta here, Nick!"

Niccolo suddenly noticed a roll of dollar bills that he'd forgotten. He counted them and saw that they totaled twenty thousand. He smiled and held it in his hand as he headed out.

He called to Butch, who looked up from pouring gasoline on Blitzer's corpse.

"Here. Take it. This is for you and your wife. It's part of what I found. There wasn't much, so don't complain."

Butch took the money, nodding. He didn't show any sign of suspicion, "What the hell were you doing back there then?"

"Checking some of his clients. Apparently he was working for Marsellus on the side,' Niccolo replied, knowing the mention of that name would forever turn Butch against Blitzer.

Hurling a match on the gasoline, Niccolo fled the house as fast as he could, feeling the heat spreading fast.

Fabienne was sitting in the back seat, Ernie in her arms. Niccolo shoved the keys into the ignition, while Butch literally took shotgun.

Butch turned to Fabienne, "Okay, sweetie, I need you to be real strong for me, okay?"

Fabienne looked terrified, "What happened to Bronson? Is he dead?"

Butch paused, and reluctantly nodded, "He tried to kill Nick here and would have killed you and me too, baby. Don't worry, we're getting out of here to get our money back, okay?"

Fabienne gave a shaky sigh and clutched the silent infant to her breast, as if Ernie was the one reason for her sanity.

Niccolo was about to drive forward, when a shiver went down his back as he heard sirens approaching. They must have seen the smoke and knew instantly where it was coming from.

He heard the rumble of their cars, and knew he had to drive fast to get out of here. Revving the engine, he sped off down the street, as far away from those sirens as possible.

Without looking away from the road, Niccolo spoke to Butch, "Are they coming behind us?"

Butch looked in the rear-view mirror, "I don't see them yet."

Niccolo sighed as he kept driving, trying to turn as many corners as he could. He knew that cops like Scagnetti were looking for him and he would never go back to jail if it killed him.

He glanced quickly at Butch, "You got any clue where we can hide?"

Butch looked at the road signs, "Yeah, there's a park on the end of this street. Just keep driving it and you'll be able to hide out in a clump of trees."

"Not good enough, Butch. It'll cause too much attention!" Niccolo retorted.

Suddenly a police car materialized out of nowhere in front of them. Niccolo screamed as he swerved out of the way, while Butch prepared to shoot if necessary. The cop car might not chase them, after all.

They were disappointed. The car began chasing them, hot on their trail. Niccolo could hear and feel the cop car knocking the back of their car.

Niccolo groaned, "Oh man, this is so-" He just stopped himself from swearing at a look from Butch.

Fabienne, looking paralysed with fear, suddenly frowned and looked into the rear-view mirror, "Oh my god! It's that cop!"

Niccolo ground his teeth; Scagnetti must have taken a detour to catch up to Blitzer's car. If only he had been thinking properly, he would never have made that mistake.

He looked at Butch, "Shoot the tires!"

As Niccolo maneuvered his way through the sparse traffic, Butch leaned out the window and fired. He missed the tires, but hit the car's hood. In response, a cop in shotgun position leaned out to fire at Butch.

Niccolo growled as he turned around another corner. Scagnetti was determined to catch them. And the longer this chase went on, the more cops Scagnetti could recruit.

Butch fired his round empty at the car, mostly missing because of Niccolo's swift turns and zigzag strategy, "Stand still, Nick!" He finally bellowed. Niccolo didn't want to do it, but he decided that Butch knew what he was doing.

Butch prepared to fire, but suddenly a car zoomed out of nowhere to smash into the back of the cop car, spinning it out of control. Quickly, Niccolo turned right to head for the train station and get out of California for good.

Butch sat back in his seat, sighing heavily, "Let's get out of this place."

Niccolo grinned, "I'm with you on that one."

They drove to the train station as fast as they could, hastily paying for the next train to Phoenix, Arizona. Even as they sat down in the train, they could hear sirens massing outside the train station. But by then they were already out of the station.

Niccolo watched the city of Blythe get smaller and smaller in his window, and he sighed, "About time."

He smiled to himself as he pulled out his copy of _The Prince_ to calm his nerves. Maybe it could give him an explanation for this amazing good luck he'd just had. He flipped through until he found what he was looking for; "How Far Human Affairs are Governed by Fortune and how Fortune can be Opposed".

_I am not unaware that many have held and hold the opinion that events are controlled by fortune and by God in such a way that the prudence of men cannot moldify them, indeed, that men have no influence whatsoever. Because of this, they would conclude that to the rulings of chance. This opinion has been more widely held in our own times, because of the great changes and variations, beyond human imagining, which we have experienced and experience every day. Sometimes, when thinking of this, I have myself inclined to this same opinion. None the less, so as not to rule out our free will, I believe that it is probably true that fortune is the arbiter of half the things we do, leaving the other half or so to be controlled by ourselves._

Niccolo sighed, as he looked at Butch, "How the hell did we get out of that situation?"

Butch nodded, "I'm asking myself that right now. Thank God for that one car, eh?"

"You can thank me in person."

The three adults looked at the man who had spoken. A large black man who looked to be in his thirties with a well trimmed beard and moustache and clean clothes that looked brand new. He stared at them with a curious interest as he sat down across the aisle from them.

Niccolo stared at the man, "You knocked Scagnetti off our trail?"

The man nodded, smiling with an amused look, "And why do you think that happened?"

Butch shrugged awkwardly, "Because you chose to help us."

The man considered that, "Yeah that can work, but I personally believe that there was divine intervention that day."

Niccolo frowned, "You're telling me that God put you in the positiont to help us?"

The man nodded again, "That's right."

Niccolo looked back at the book he read, and then looked up again, "But you didn't have to listen to God even if he did do that."

The man frowned as he considered that, and shrugged, "That's an interesting way of putting it. So, my man, how did you get in with Butch Coolidge here?"

Niccolo was surprised, "How do you know who Butch is?"

The man smiled again, "'Cause I'm Jules Winnfield, one of the guys who was supposed to kill the bastard."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven; Eccliastical Principalities**

Niccolo stared at Jules, "The Jules Winnfield? Marsellus Wallace's top hitman who retired?"

Jules grinned, "Yeah, it sounds unbelievable. But I got my own reasons that I decided to walk the earth."

Niccolo frowned, "Walk the earth? What are you a born-again Christian?"

Jules nodded solemnly.

Niccolo felt a bit spooked. This guy was so pious, so calm and neutral, so unlike the Jules Winnfield he'd heard about before.

Butch looked at Jules in surprise, "Was your partner Vincent Vega?"

Jules nodded, "You killed him, I know. But don't get excited, I'm not here because of Vincent. That motherfucker was an okay dude but way too sensitive. Excuse my language there, Mrs. Coolidge." He added the last when he noticed Fabienne with the baby in her arms.

Fabienne shrugged, "It's alright. We actually owe you a thank-you. You saved us."

Jules smiled politely, "Like I said, I believe that you guys are the next people I have to help."

Niccolo frowned, "Help? You're a saviour now?"

Jules nodded, "You heard about why I've done that now?"

Niccolo shrugged, "Something about you not dying from a hail of bullets and you determined it was God's work."

Jules nodded again, "That's right. I saw the light and realized what God wanted me to do. I'm the shepherd now, trying to keep good men from the tyranny of evil."

Niccolo wondered suddenly why Jules had picked him.

Jules looked at Niccolo, "I know who you are. I don't know what alias you're going under now, but I know that you work for Carlo Jimmenez and you used to work for Joe Cabot. I also heard that you had the alias of Mr. Pink."

Niccolo shuddered. Retired or not, Jules was well informed.

Jules continued, "The way I see it, I'm meant to lead good men away from evil. I'm like that Catcher in the Rye crap an' all. I've been led to you three for a specific reason, I can tell."

Butch was confused, "How?"

Jules gave a reminiscent smile, "Every time that I've had that feeling, I've seen people do crazy things that would normally get them killed. But you guys are all still alive. I could have helped the cops but I didn't. I helped you, because something inside me told me that you needed help."

Niccolo grinned nervously, "Well we don't need help anymore thanks to you."

Jules's smile didn't falter, but he was no longer sounding so good-natured when he said, "Listen now Mr. Pink. I ain't gonna take forever to get you to understand. I was sent to you because you and Butch here are both good men that might be off the righteous path."

Butch's face faltered, and looked at Fabienne uncertainly. Niccolo felt annoyed at this guy's patronizing attitude, "You want us to be baptized or something?"

"I don't give a fuck about your religion. The righteous path applies to all people, no matter what their faith or colour." Jules answered.

Niccolo sighed at that truth.

Jules looked out the window of the train, "Now then, you three are probably gonna be met with an escort when you get into Phoenix. Y'all made bit of a ruckus back there. You can accept my offer of help, or you can turn it down."

Niccolo looked Jules in the eye, "Aside from our souls, what else is at stake?"

Jules looked back at him, "I've seen men hear that their souls are in danger and they fall flat on their knees."

Niccolo frowned, "Yeah, well my soul would take up a lot of time."

Butch spoke up, "What do you want to know?"

Niccolo could tell that Butch didn't buy it either, but Jules answered, "I want to know what you three are planning and I want to help you be able to get out of this whole shit storm and redeem yourselves."

Niccolo sighed and picked up his book.

"Is that _The Prince_ by that Italian guy- whats-his-name- Machiavelli?" Jules asked.

Niccolo looked at Jules in surprise, "You know this book?"

Jules grinned, "Shit, you read the Bible, you read everything. Now here's something for you, Mr. Pink..."

"...Man would you stop calling me that? That was a terrible name anyway..."

"Well then what should I call you?"

"Niccolo. Nick for short."

Jules shook his head ruefully, "Well at least I know where you got that from. But here's something for you. Put your finger in the middle of the book and open it. I guarantee you will land on the advice on what to do in this situation."

Niccolo paused, and slowly opened it randomly down the middle, "What if I don't get the part?"

Jules raised his eyebrows, "Remember who you're talkin' to, Niccolo."

Niccolo looked at the page, and there it read "Ecclesiastical Principalities."

Jules' voice broke in, "So prince Niccolo, read about the kingdom of God."

Niccolo obeyed.

_It now remains to discuss ecclesiastical principalities; and here, the difficulties which have to be faced occur before the ruler is established, in that such principalities are won by prowess or by fortune but are kept without the help of either. They are maintained, in fact, by religious institutions, so powerfully mature that, no matter how the ruler acts and lives, they safeguard his government. Ecclesiastical princes alone possess states, and do not defend them; subjects and do not govern them. And though their states are not defended they are not taken away from them; and their subjects, being without government, do not worry about it and neither can hope to overthrow it in favour of another. So these principalities alone are secure and happy. But as they are sustained by higher powers whch the human mind cannot comprehend, I shall not argue about them; they are exalted and maintained by God, and so only a rash and presumptuous man would take it on himself to discuss them._

Niccolo felt shaken. Was this actually some kind of spiritual message in the form of an ex-criminal named Jules Winnfield?

Butch was already talking about his plan to get his money back, and Jules was in the middle of a response.

"...don't doubt at all that you earned that money, and while you broke a promise to Marsellus, you did at the least maintain your integrity as a boxer and a sportsman, for selfish reasons or not."

Butch was still very unsure that this guy was speaking the truth, Niccolo saw. Jules hadn't talked at all to Fabienne; she was sleeping, still cradling the infant.

Butch spoke up, "Listen, that money was earned by bets, but I'm entitled to it, am I not?"

Jules shrugs, "Your conscience has got to be clear when you set down the righteous path."

Niccolo looked at Jules, "Listen, what if we turn it down?"

Jules looked directly at him, "Well then it's your ass that's gotta look up at God and tell him of your sins."

Niccolo nodded, and suddenly looked at the chapter again. It gave examples of historical people he'd never heard of before, and he wondered suddenly if this was just a chance meeting or a sign of God.

Then he read the passage again and he realized that Jules was right. The answer had indeed been in the passage.

He looked up, "Jules, I ain't meant for this. And neither is Butch."

Butch and Jules gave him questioning looks, "Why's that?"

Niccolo read part of the passage out loud, "Ecclesiastical princes alone possess states, and do not defend them; subjects and do not govern them. And though their states are not defended they are not taken away from them; and their subjects, being without government, do not worry about it and neither can hope to overthrow it in favour of another. So these principalities alone are secure and happy."

Jules raised an eyebrow again, "So?"

Niccolo spoke up, "Ecclesiastical kingdoms cannot be taken. Your surrendering the kingdom to the prince, but I can't take it."

Jules frowned, "Who the hell says you're a prince?"

Niccolo smiled, "I'm Niccolo. I'm the original prince."

Jules shrugged, "Fine. I ain't gonna waste more time on you three. But let this be the last warning you can receive."

He got up to leave the compartment, but he turned back to say one last thing, "Oh, and we'll be arriving in Phoenix in about five minutes."

He closed the door behind him, never to be seen by Niccolo, Butch, or Fabienne again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight; How Far Human Affairs are Governed by Fortune and how Fortune can be Opposed Part 2**

The meeting with Jules left Niccolo feeling empty, as though he had had something valuable and had given it away without realizing its value. Jules' warning had somehow gotten to him.

Butch sighed, "What the fuck was that all about?"

Niccolo shrugged, "I don't know. But we've got a meeting with Charley and we need to get going so as the cops don't pick us up from the station.

Butch looked around, "And how are we going to do that?"

Niccolo sighed, and suddenly a thought came into his head. Maybe Jules Winnfield had been right? Maybe he was indeed defying fate and going against what was meant to be. To make sure, he opened the book _The Prince_ back to "How Far Human Affairs are Governed by Fortune and how Fortune can be Opposed". Perhaps he could find some hope in this book as he'd always had.

To his utter relief, Machiavelli had an answer to his question.

_I say that we see that some princes flourish one day and come to grief the next, without appearing to have changed in character or any other way. This I believe arises, first, for the reasons discussed at length earlier on, namely, that those princes who are utterly dependent on fortune come to grief when their fortune changes.I also believe that the one who adapts his policy to the times prospers, and likewise that the one whose policy clashes with the demands of the times does not._

Niccolo sighed with relief; there was some hope for him after all. He continued reading the chapter up to the end where another passage stood out for him.

_I hold strongly to this: that it is better to be impetuous than circumspect; because fortune is a woman and if she is to be submissive it is necessary to beat and coerce her. Experience shows that she is more often subdued by men who do this than by those who act coldly. Always, being a woman, she favours young men, because they are less circumspect and more ardent, and because they command her with greater audacity._

'Well, that's an odd comparison,' Niccolo thought.

Butch got up to see if the coast was clear, leaving Niccolo with Fabienne and the baby.

Niccolo looked at Fabienne, who had woken up again from her little nap. Normally he felt awkward in these situations; he wasn't a big people person and didn't start conversations. If one was started, he'd get involved if it suited him, but he rarely started his own conversations unless they were necessary.

But he suddenly felt compelled to start one with Fabienne, "So how the hell did you get in all this?"

Fabienne looked at him in polite confusion, "All of what?"

Niccolo jerked his head to where Butch had just left, "I mean how did you meet him and all that?"

Fabienne sighed contentedly, as though watching a memory movie in her head, "My father was a carpenter who moved to America for better business. I was nineteen, and I decided to go to college here for a better chance to succeed. My father made a lot of money and eventually built up a good business for my brothers to grow up in."

Niccolo smiled distractedly.

Fabienne spoke again, with more lust in her voice, "I met Butch at the boxing match. It was a pure accident, though. A chance in a lifetime. I'll never forget it. There were two boxers in the ring. One had an odd name like Bubba Stotts. It was funny, I laughed when they announced his name. But he was a very good boxer. He was about to win early, but then that he beat Bubba with a sudden punch from the left."

Niccolo stared at her, intrigued, "So what happened then?"

Fabienne continued, "Bubba tried to finish it, but then his opponent took over and evened the score. It was unbelievable. Nobody had seen it coming. The man was unbelievable."

Niccolo chuckled, "So Butch beat him?"

Fabienne looked confused, "Butch beat who?"

Niccolo paused, "Wasn't he the guy Bubba was fighting?"

Fabienne shook her head, "Oh no, that was a man named Ironman Isaac."

Niccolo did a double take, "What?"

Fabienne nodded, as though not noticing Niccolo's expression, "Butch was sitting next to me in the crowd. We started talking together and he walked me home from the match. Then we started dating. Our first date was when he fought Wildfoot Radley. Kind of an odd name for a boxer wouldn't you say?" She chuckled.

Ernie suddenly began calling for milk, and Niccolo gave Fabienne some privacy by going to find Butch.

He was standing out by the door, staring out the window, "I don't know what we're gonna do, man. You heard Winnfield, they're probably gonna have a bunch of cops waiting to arrest us. We ain't getting out of here free unless we shoot our way out."

Niccolo nodded, "I don't want another bloodbath on my hands. The first one was too fucking much for my tastes."

Butch grinned, "What happened at that robbery anyway? I heard about it, but I never found out the details."

Niccolo paused, knowing that it was not a good idea to reveal all that information to Butch.

Butch laughed, "Oh come on, it's not like the cops don't already know. That's the whole reason you're on the run, buddy!"

Niccolo nodded, "True."

So he told the part of the story that Butch didn't know about. He talked about how he met up with Mr. White- his name had been Larry-, and a wounded Mr. Orange. Then Mr. Blonde came and brought the hostage. Nice Guy Eddie showed up to get the loot, and when they returned, they found Mr. Blonde dead by Mr. Orange's hand. Eddie shot the cop, was ready to torture Orange, but Joe suddenly appeared and prepared to shoot Orange. Mr. White tried to defend Orange, and Eddie tried to defend his dad. Niccolo, Mr. Pink, had been the only one to walk out of that warehouse alive.

Butch was riveted by the story. At the end of it, he spoke up, "Weren't there six robbers though? What happened to the other two?"

Niccolo shrugged, "Mr. White told me that Mr. Brown got shot outside the store by some nigger cop. As for Mr. Blue, we never found out how he died. Joe just came in and told us."

Butch was suddenly skeptical, "Wait, you just took Joe's word for it?"

Niccolo looked at Butch in irritation, "Yeah I fucking did. Why not?"

Butch spoke up, "Because the cops never caught him or found his body."

Niccolo paused, the beginnings of a shock building up in him, "Wait... no, no. Joe told us he was dead. He said Mr. Blue was as dead as Dillinger."

Butch paused, and laughed, "Well isn't that obvious! Mr. Blue escaped!"

Niccolo frowned, "What?"

"Do you know who Dillinger was? John Dillinger? He was one of the most notorious criminals to ever have the honour of calling himself American," Butch replied, "He was eventually killed supposedly because a woman in red would identify him to the cops."

"So?" Niccolo asked.

"It wasn't Dillinger!" Butch exclaimed, "I could show you a shitload of proof that John Dillinger wasn't killed outside the theater. He escaped somehow and was never seen again."

Niccolo began to shudder. He had never thought Mr. Blue could have died easily, but he had accepted that a seventy-something guy couldn't escape the robbery as quick as he could have. He looked out of the window as he thought of Mr. Blue and how he had been the only other real professional in the group. Mr. White was way to fucking emotional. Mr. Blonde had been psychotic, and Mr. Brown had been a fucking bluffer. As for Mr. Orange...

Mr. Orange, Mr. Blonde's killer and the guy who had betrayed them all to the cops. Why, if only he had survived. He would have gone to find him and make him pay for that year in prison and all the shit he had had to take. Just thinking of the rat made Niccolo's teeth grind.

Oh well. Orange was dead, according to the noises he had heard. Everyone involved in that was dead. Except him and Mr. Blue; wherever Mr. Blue was.

Butch looked at Niccolo, "How did you know Joe?"

Niccolo sighed, not liking how he was telling Butch all this about his past. He wondered if he ought to lie about some stuff.

Butch noticed his look, "How come you're so secretive about this anyway?"

Niccolo paused, "You never know when information can get you killed."

Butch smiled, "I know what that's like, but I'm pretty sure you can trust me."

Niccolo shook his head, "No I can't. Suppose a man puts a gun to your little boy's head and asks where I am. What are you gonna do?"

Butch paused in revulsion, perhaps thinking of the idea Niccolo had just proposed. Then he nodded in agreement, "See your point there. But who'd want to find you so badly?"

Niccolo grinned, "The cops, and you can't trust them for a fucking inch. Then there's all those other of people me and Charley fucked over when we started selling drugs. There's a bunch of people to be honest with you."

Butch nodded, and sighed, "Well I know what it's like to be on the run." He sat down next to Niccolo, "So what's the plan?"

Niccolo sighed, "Well, hopefully Charley finds a way to get us outta this fucking mess. But I'll be damned that I don't know what to do here."

Suddenly a man stepped through the door. His hair was blond, almost white, but the beard fuzzle on his cheeks was darker. He was built heavily, though he looked pretty thin for his size. He held a gun in his hand, pointed directly at Niccolo.

"You!" Niccolo almost screamed. No fucking way! No fucking way! Niccolo wanted to cry; he never dreamed he would ever see Gaear Grimsrud again. "You're supposed to be in fucking prison! What are you doing here?!"

Gaear looked at him with that blank expression on his face, and spoke in a calm voice, "I've been looking for you."

**Author's Note: For anyone who's seen "Fargo", you know the irony of putting Gaear Grimsrud in the same train as Mr. Pink.  
**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine; How Princes Should Honour Their Word**

Gaear looked at Niccolo with a cold gaze as he held the gun expertly.

Butch suddenly grabbed Niccolo's gun from Niccolo's waist and jumped away from Niccolo to point the gun at Gaear.

Gaear did not even look at Butch, but he did not shoot the gun.

Niccolo stared at Gaear with a sudden surge of loathing. This was the man who had killed Captain Koons' youngest son Carl. This fucking albino was one of the big reasons that Niccolo was so hated by his family.

Niccolo had known Gaear almost as long as he'd known Joe or Charley...

_Gaear had been working for Joe for about two years when Mitchell met Joe again since he was a kid. Mitchell hadn't seen Joe for ten years, and he was glad to see him and Eddie again.  
_

_Mitchell met with Joe's son Eddie in elementaary school. The two of them had been good friends, and Mitchell had met Eddie's father on many occasions. Joe treated Mitchell with kindness, and encouraged the friendship by offering to say hello to Mitchell's parents._

_Of course, once Mr. and Mrs. Koons found out about their son's new best friend, they immediately forbade him from ever speaking to him again. Like all nine-year-olds, Mitchell didn't listen, not even after his father had tried to beat the message into him. He continued to meet with Eddie and play tricks and get in trouble at school. _

_Eventually Mitchell was moved out of California to live with his uncle and cousins, after the principal suggested to Mitchell's parents that he should change location._

_Captain Koons had gladly taken Mitchell in to show him some discipline under a stern parental figure. Mitchell grew to loathe his uncle, who he deemed to be slightly touched in the head from all that time in Vietnam. He also despised the Captain's older son, a perfect model of what his father wanted in a son._

_It was Carl that befriended Mitchell. Carl was around five years older than Mitchell, but the two of them connected easily when faced with such a harsh man as Carl's father. For ten years, Mitchell endured the Captain as he passed secondary school and was gotten into college._

_He didn't want anything from Captain Koons. He had what he needed once he met Charley in high school and heard about the money that was to be made in drugs._

_Captain Koons had worked hard all his life and had earned a very comfortable living for his family, and had earned many rights with that wealth. One of those rights was the right to be stolen from by his nephew. Charley had needed funding, and with the promise of being made a full-time partner, Mitchell had given him four thousand of his college money and later on, another five thousand for extra expenses. He was terrified of the chances that he would fail to earn the money back. Even then, he did not like to face Captain Koons' awesome wrath._

_He needn't have worried. He and Charley made several ventures and eventually won. The money began to flow in as Charley took control of expanding outwards. Mitchell helped too, contacting his old friend Eddie, and providing a third member of the gang that could be useful._

_Carl._

_Carl was eager to get involved with Mitchell when he made it big. There were lots of advantages to this: Carl and Mitchell looked so much alike they could have been brothers. Plus he was far more accessible to cash and guns that his father kept in a small cupboard. They never knew if a meeting would go badly._

_So then, when Mitchell was twenty and Charley was twenty-one, they and Carl met up with Joe and Eddie down in California. Captain Koons wrote Mitchell out of his will and demanded the police to get his son back from his nephew. It was a messy situation, but the three youths were able to see Eddie and Joe and work out an arrangement. Joe provided them with an agent to talk to if he was unable to be reached. That man was Gaear. _

_Mitchell and Charley disliked Gaear immediately. Carl became the man to contact Gaear, and the two tolerated each other as much as they could. Luckily Carl had to see little of Gaear due to the fact that Mitchell usually was able to contact Eddie or Joe. At that point, Carl changed his name due to the fact that his father had disowned him as well._

_The business went on, but of the two men who had started it, Charley rose in great prominence, being the driving force behind it all. He hired more men to carry out deeds he would normally have to do, and he organized the business into a little empire for himself. Mitchell had tried to be as influential as he could, but he just wasn't cut out for it as well as Charley. However, Charley respected and honoured him as a close friend, and Mitchell was never want of anything. _

_But Mitchell also worked independently with Carl, and the two of them made several small-time robberies and did jobs for hire with other guys. Mitchell acquired names for himself over the years, as did Carl, finally changing his last name to Showalter before going to work with Joe. _

_Then in 1987, Gaear and Carl were sent to a meeting on Joe's behalf to settle something with one of the other local crime lords in L.A. The meeting was meant to reason with other gangsters and negotiate new borders. Charley sent a man in his place, being a friend of Joe._

_The meeting never took place. All the people who went to the meeting were gunned down, and Carl and Gaear, who had never arrived to the meeting place, disappeared overnight. Joe eventually told Mitchell several years later that he had sent them over to Minnesota to rest their feet for a while, commenting that Carl was just not cut out for outright crime anyway._

_Mitchell had had a falling out with Joe in between that time though, disbelieving in how Joe had used the flag of truce to his advantage in such a manner. Charley hadn't minded, much to Mitchell's shock, and had indeed known that his ambassador would die, in order to throw everyone off their trail and falsely assume that Joe and Charley were now at odds._

_Mitchell did not work for Joe again until he offered a handsome reward in exchange for doing another robbery for old times sake. That was when everything in Mitchell's life came crashing down._

_He had also found out that Carl's foot had been found in a wood chipper, with Gaear, the killer, behind bars. _

_""" " "" "" """" "" " " " "_

Gaear stared at Niccolo, regardless of the gun next to his ear. Neither he nor Butch dared to move lest they ended up shot. Beneath the paranoia that he had no gun and was vulnerable, Niccolo was reminded of the three-way standoff that had ended with all four men dead.

Gaear spoke in that dark voice Niccolo still remembered, "I don't know who you are, but I want you to put that gun down and forget about this little shit-face here."

Butch did not move, "Kiss my ass, you touch that man you die."

Gaear spoke again, "I'm here to kill this fucking shit, and if you impede me now, I will kill you first."

Butch laughed, "Try it, Daddy-O. I'm gonna fuckin' cook you, and I'm gonna fucking eat you!"

Niccolo raised up his hands slightly, "Look, what the fuck's going on, Gaear? What are you doing here and what reason would you have to kill me? Shit you killed my cousin for Christ's sake! I should have asked Charley to send some goobas down to circumcise you!"

Gaear shook his head but still looked right at Niccolo, "You have no real power, you shit. I killed your stupid cousin, because he was a fucking idiot that didn't know when to back down or follow up."

Butch spoke again, "Hey, this has gone far enough. Put your gun down and give it to Nick here handle first."

Gaear, for the first time, changed the expression on his face; he smiled. He spoke again, "I'll give him my gun, sure. Bullets first."

Suddenly a shot rang out. Niccolo swore foully and covered his face with his hands. He flinched in readiness of a bullet hitting him, still swearing.

After a second he looked up again. He saw that Butch had jumped back and was staring in shock at Gaear.

Gaear himself was looking at a bloody stain over his heart. The red stain darkened and expanded, even as Gaear choked up blood in shock. He lifted his gun again, staring wildly at Butch.

The man standing behind Gaear fired three more bullets into Gaear's body before the man collapsed on the floor.

"Oh daddy,' Niccolo sobbed with relief. He got up and wiped at the sweat pouring down his face. He looked at Butch, who was also standing paralyzed with surprise.

All of a sudden there was a scream, "Butch!"

Butch ran into the compartment to head Fabienne off, "Don't look baby! Don't look! It's okay!"

Niccolo nodded at the man who had saved his life, "Thanks."

The man nodded in return, "Any time."

Niccolo paused and asked, "Who are you?"

The man put his gun away, "I'm Mickey. Mickey Knox."

Niccolo shook his hand, "I'm Niccolo."

Mickey grinned, "Funny name that. But I can tell you're a man like me so I figured ought to help."

Niccolo frowned. He doubted there was a lot he shared in common with this man who spoke with a thick Southern accent. He looked a bit like a redneck in all honesty, but he did save Niccolo's life, so he said nothing.

Mickey spoke again, noticing the doubt, "I mean you're a man on the run."

Niccolo grinned in acknowledgment, "Yeah, won't deny that. Prison break."

Mickey laughed, "Me too! I'm heading over to the love of my life. What about you?"

Niccolo shrugged, "Heading across the country to find some friends."

Mickey grimaced, "Well, hopefully you find what you're looking for."

Niccolo nodded, "You too."

Mickey turned to leave, chuckling darkly, "Oh luck ain't got nothing to do with it. It's fate." He headed into the next compartment.

Niccolo sighed heavily.

He looked at Gaear's corpse and thought again about that meeting Joe had arranged. He had been so surprised, but now, he could understand that it was smart. Joe had made a light promise in the hope to fool his enemies to walk into the trap.

To confirm his thoughts, Niccolo took out "The Prince" and read what Machiavelli had to say about it.

_A prudent ruler cannot, and must not, honour his word when it places him at a disadvantage and when the reasons for which he made his promise no longer exist. If all men were good, this precept would not be good; but because men are wretched creatures who would not keep their word to you, you need not keep your word to them._

Niccolo grinned at that statement. This guy must have been paranoid if he couldn't trust anyone. But he had the right idea.

**Author's Note: The flashback is an homage to Mr. Pink's suspicion that Joe set up the heist with the intention of it to fail. Just seems like something Joe would do, Pink says in the film. So here you go; the reason what made him think that.**

**Oh, and see if you can spot a reference to Bruce Willis' previous filmography, as well as a reference to Gaear's original film.  
**


End file.
